Crushed
by mooshymoomoo
Summary: Some say that the worst form of abuse is neglect. Ignorance. Mrs. Lovett describes her love for her Beautiful Benjamin. AN: I figured out the Eleanor/Nellie thing. Cool beans. AN: Yes, I realize it was 15 years. My mistake.


Crushed- The Story of Mrs. Lovett's Love

I watched you from across the street all those years ago, longing for you. I loved you. I could always pick your face out from the crowd. Whenever I met with Lucy for tea, it was mostly just so I had an excuse to see you.

But your heart was for someone else. I couldn't hate Lucy, for she was my friend and something dear to you. I couldn't hate you for not loving me, because I wouldn't ever do anything to make you unhappy. I just had to respect it, gaze from afar.

When that wretched man sent you away, it was almost a relief. It was killing me inside, watching your life with her. You were both so happy, with your lovely Johanna. Such a perfect little family. I couldn't bear watching what should have been mine any longer. Lucy had been my best mate, but when you chose her instead of me... it distanced us.

Whenever she told me of romantic trips you took her on, or of the adorable things Johanna did, I just listened with my ears half shut, trying to force out the heartache enough to keep a smile on my face. I was just pushing everything to the back of my mind; not thinking about it because of the agony those thoughts caused me.

When Turpin defiled her, I wasn't sad as I should have been. I felt like I was similar to the man. He wanted somebody he couldn't have.

The difference between the two of us is that he didn't love her, he just loved her face and was greedy enough to dispose of the beautiful barber so he could get what he wanted.

When she took the poison, I secretly hoped that she did die. That pretty face. Her yellow hair. I was no match, with my frizzy ringlets and gaunt face. She took what was mine. If she had died like she should have, I wouldn't be dead. But I can't change history, as much I'd like.

No, she didn't die. She went weak in the head and became a crazy old beggar, who in the end was what killed me.

When you came back and thought she was dead, I thought things would finally go right for me. I would have my beautiful Benjamin, and we could get married and live by the sea together. After 16 years, I still recognized you. I even told you that I loved you, how happy I was that you had come home. But you didn't hear me at all, did you. You were too busy brooding on how to properly avenge Lucy. Even when it was finally my turn, she was still in the way.

It hurt so bad that you could never love me. I thought that maybe I had a chance this time. But no. You slept in that nasty old barbers chair, instead of the empty place in the bed beside me. By then it was clear to me that you wouldn't patch back up the empty hole you'd ripped in my heart. The heartache was so bad that I often cried myself to sleep.

As thin as the floor was, you never heard my woeful sobbing. You were sound asleep dreaming of your Lucy.

During the day it was more or less the same. The violent, gravelly bellowing at me to get out, or leave you alone. All the times you've had me pressed against the wall, with a razor to my throat, in such a fit of rage that you almost threatened to act further. You had my life, literally in your hands. And I would've given my life for you, if the need arose.

I became a murdering cannibal for you. I powered through the severe bouts of nausea when butchering corpses, thinking _it'll all be worth it when Mr. T finally loves me. _

It has been said by many that the worst form of abuse is neglect. Ignorance. Refusal to listen to my words of love. Being so close minded that you could never love another woman. Why would you do that to me? What had I done to deserve that abuse?

Lucy called me the wife of the devil. I've done enough misdeeds to deserve that title. Even though I'm now in Hell, I'm at the same time in Heaven.

Driven by love, I killed for you. You found out that she had lived and you killed me, you threw me into the fire to burn like the witch that she said I was. But by that, you've set me free. I am no longer alive. I have no heart, so there can no longer be heartache.


End file.
